


Burning

by KaijinKyn



Category: Hatoful Kareshi | Hatoful Boyfriend
Genre: Christmas Party, Comfort, Haphephobia, I'm love them, If You Squint - Freeform, M/M, Mistletoe, One-Sided Relationship, Panic Attacks, Social Anxiety, anyway here's my Boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2019-01-15 10:34:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12319290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaijinKyn/pseuds/KaijinKyn
Summary: He has never been particularly good at handling crowds; his haphephobia something he has had since birth and not exactly helped by his parents treatment towards him. Usually the lab is far less crowded than this, easier for Souma to manage and feel comfortable in, though that doesn’t negate the fact that Dr. Kawara himself is an overly-friendly man. Even now Souma still finds himself freezing up under his hands, the doctor’s touch much akin to the sensation of Souma’s skin and nerves setting alight - but even that he can handle better thanthis.





	Burning

**Author's Note:**

> idk i started this then stopped then kept going at like midnight with the worst headache ever so sorry if the quality suddenly drops halfway through  
> ANYWAY HAVE THIS IT'S FOR THE HATOFUL SHIP WEEK I LOVE MY B O Y S

There’s nothing Souma hates more than parties, especially ones like these. They always reminded him uncomfortably of the ones his parents used to hold; times when he’d be put on display for their snobbish friends to oogle at because he was the ‘only heir to the Ichijou family’ and therefore meant he was apparently supposed to shut up and sit still while rich, old people fussed over him. In the end it had always been the same, over and over; he had been nothing but a way to boost the Ichijou popularity. Even on his birthday eventually he had been pushed aside so his mother and father could bask in the attention.

Souma, admittedly, had been very glad to know they were gone, even after waking from a three-day coma with permanent damage to both his brain and body.

Still, despite the somewhat sour memories the party was bringing back for him, there were obvious differences between the two. This was a party orchestrated by Dr. Kawara, after all, and that man was practically the living embodiment of ‘fun’. The party itself was a reflection of festive Christmas cheer, the mood of the room bright and loud and cheerful, everything his parents had not been - and Souma felt so very, very uncomfortable.

He has never been particularly good at handling crowds; his haphephobia something he has had since birth and not exactly helped by his parents treatment towards him. Usually the lab is far less crowded than this, easier for Souma to manage and feel comfortable in, though that doesn’t negate the fact that Dr. Kawara himself is an overly-friendly man. Even now Souma still finds himself freezing up under his hands, the doctor’s touch much akin to the sensation of Souma’s skin and nerves setting alight - but even that he can handle better than  _ this. _ Standing up is a hazard, the possibility of an arm or hand scraping against Souma’s body enough to send him cowering in a corner of the room, beginning to feel vaguely ill. He doesn’t want to  _ be here, _ but Dr. Kawara had begged him to attend if only for a short while and, despite his misgivings, Souma had reluctantly agreed to stay for an hour.

Now with the door to the exit on the opposite side of the room, blocked by a crowd of people that is most certainly smaller than it looks in his panicked vision, Souma wishes he had just gone to bed. His head is swimming, too many bright and flashing shades of red that his brain isn’t used to processing beginning to give him a headache and make him feel somewhat dizzy. It’s too loud, the chatter of too many conversations and overly-cheerful Christmas music preventing him from even being able to hear his own thoughts and losing himself in the comfort of chemical structure.

“Isa Souma!” Squeezing his eyes shut, Souma almost doesn’t hear a familiar call over the blood rushing through his ears, only saved from the beginnings of what he’s sure is a panic attack by a hand tentatively touching his shoulder. His first instinct is of course to jerk away, eyes snapping open again and focusing coldly on whoever popped his small bubble of personal space in the corner - only to relax a little when he realises it’s only Tohri, who was looking down at him with what Souma pointedly ignores is worry in his eyes. “Isa Souma? Are you alright?”  Concern is not something Tohri usually grants him, their mutual dislike for each other and infatuation with the doctor causing many arguments… At least on Tohri’s end. Souma has little interest in entertaining him for very long; he is petty and loud and annoying - everything Souma hates about a person.

Still… It  _ is _ nice to see a familiar face among the throng of people, having lost sight of the doctor about half an hour ago. Souma hasn’t exactly bothered with making friends in the department after all; once he surpassed Dr. Kawara and became head of LiSciRe they would all be working  _ for  _ him, not with him. A familiar relationship with workers was not something Souma found professional, despite the doctor’s attitude towards him personally. It probably didn’t help that Souma didn’t know  _ how _ to make friends, having never truly had one. He wouldn’t exactly consider Tohri in that particular category, either.

“Yes, I’m… Fine, thank you.” They both know Souma can tell better lies, Tohri’s eyebrows rising with definite skepticism. Souma avoids his gaze in return, not truly willing to have this conversation with the pheasant - he wished Dr. Kawara had come to his aid, not this flashy excuse for a mechanic.

“Are you  _ sure? _ Because you honestly look like you’re going to faint.” Souma’s immediate response is to snap back something cold in return, pushing himself away from the wall - he doesn’t  _ need _ Tohri’s help, he can look after himself just fine - but then the world starts to spin and he loses his footing, only saved from crashing to the floor by Tohri’s arms catching his descent halfway. The contact burns, as it always does, but it’s admittedly better than cracking his skull or glasses on the lab floor. Tohri, thankfully, says nothing as he helps Souma stand straight again, though he does look far more judgemental than he did a few minutes ago. “Isa, if there’s something wrong you can tell me, you know. We might not get along, but even  _ I’m _ not cold-hearted enough to leave you alone over here!”

“I don’t need you to…” He’s fighting a losing battle, Souma knows this. With a sigh and a vain attempt to rid himself of his growing headache by rubbing at the bridge of his nose, Souma eventually looks up at Tohri with somewhat of a helpless expression on his face, his young age shining through in that moment. “It’s too crowded. I want to leave, but I-I don’t think I could handle getting to the door alone…” It’s the most fragile Tohri has ever seen the younger scientist, worry and concern for his colleague (however much they didn’t get along) filling his chest.

“I see… Well, do you want me to escort you there? People tend to move out of the way of my magnificence.” Souma’s eyeroll in response to his words does not go unnoticed, but before Tohri can make a fuss about it Souma is grabbing onto his sleeve, the beginnings of a frown on his face.

“Don’t… Don’t touch me. But don’t let me get lost, either.” Tohri nods and with that they begin to move, Souma tightening his grip on Tohri’s bright red sleeve as they started entering the crowd. Usually it was easy to spot the pheasant, his pastel shade standing out in a world of grey. But in a place like this, if he let go of Tohri, he’d certainly lose the other. He can’t panic, he can’t, he  _ can’t _ because they’re all here, the entire division in one room and if he breaks down and they see he’ll be treated like more of a child than he already is, despite his knowledge and despite Dr. Kawara’s attention-

For a brief, terrifying moment Tohri’s sleeve slips out of Souma’s grasp, the taller bird taking a step forward without him and Souma almost begins crying then and there - but Tohri notices before that can happen and then his hand is gripping tight onto Souma’s own,  _ relief _ immediately flooding his chest even when the contact burns and his skin festers beneath Tohri’s hand.

“...Isa. Isa Souma.” It takes a few moments for Souma to come back to himself, blinking open his eyes that he hadn’t even realised he’d squeezed shut and focusing somewhat dizzily on Tohri’s red shirt, steadying himself against the wall behind him thankfully. The crowded room was gone, both himself and Tohri standing in the much-quieter and far less busy hallway. It it, frankly, a huge relief, his head feeling clear for the first time since the party properly started. Souma can’t quite remember actually leaving the room, his brain drawing blanks between now and almost losing Tohri in the crowd - but it doesn’t matter much. He’s free now.

“Thank you, Nishikikouji.” Souma mumbles his thanks, hoping vaguely that Tohri didn’t hear him - he knows it’s only polite to thank the other for his assistance, but Tohri’s head is big enough already without Souma’s forced attempts at being pleasant. From the smug, self-satisfied smile on the pheasant’s face Souma doesn’t hold his hopes very high, electing to simply ignore the other and instead rubs tiredly at his eyes under his glasses. He just wants to sleep, now… Or  _ try to _ sleep. Insomnia was both a blessing and a curse.

“Heeey, Isa!! Nishikikouji!!” Under any other circumstance Souma would have been happy to see Dr. Kawara’s cheerful face, the older dove coming out of the laboratory with the rose-tinted cheeks of a man who had perhaps had a little too much wine for the evening. As it was, all Souma wants is a break - it was technically the doctor’s fault he felt like this now. Being annoyed at Dr. Kawara is a new feeling for him, one he’s not entirely comfortable with. “I saw you guys leave! Is everything okay? You’re lookin’ a little pale, Isa.” Guilt, of course, comes next - Souma was blaming his boss when all the other seemed to do was care for him.

But he doesn’t want to explain, to have to stand here for another hour trying to get through to the doctor as to the  _ whys _ and  _ hows _ of Souma’s feelings. He barely understands them himself, nobody’s ever taught him how to put what he feels into words and frankly it’s just easier to file them away and pretend they don’t exist. He just wants to go to  _ bed- _

“Isa Souma was feeling unwell when I found him, so I was simply escorting him out of the room. It would certainly put a damper on the mood in the room if he fainted or some such during a party.” That was… True enough. Souma couldn’t help his surprise as he looked at the serious expression on Tohri’s face; having the pheasant rescue Souma from not just his social issues but also his emotional struggles is not what he had expected considering their usual relationship. Dr. Kawara, thankfully, seems to accept that as a response, giving Souma a concerned look that the partridge shies away from nervously, unable to maintain eye-contact in the best of situations.

“Is that so? Sorry, Isa. I wouldn't've made you come along if I’d known it’d be that bad. You gonna go to bed now?”

“Yes, sir. I hope that’s alright. My apologies for not being able to… Appreciate the social gathering.” It was a flat apology, but an apology nonetheless. Dr. Kawara waves him off cheerfully, regaining his energetic smile that immediately makes the hallway seem so much brighter, the dove rocking on his heels.

“Aw, it’s alright! This old man will go back alone, then.” That appears to be the end of that, Dr. Kawara moving as if to go back into the room and Tohri, with a slight nod in Souma’s direction, moves to go with him - only for the doctor to stop abruptly, cherry red eyes flickering up to the ceiling above Souma’s head, smile curving into something more amused than before. “Hey, Nishikikouji, wait a minute. Don’t you owe Isa something?” Two gazes drift upwards in confusion, the bright red of holly berries standing out in Souma’s greyscale world. He’s heard vaguely of this custom, that standing under mistletoe with another person means…  _ Something. _ Souma never cared enough to bother remembering what, exactly - but from the expression on Tohri’s face it’s easy to assume nothing good.

“Y-You can’t be serious! Like I’d  _ ever- _ With  _ Isa Souma!” _ Dr. Kawara looks entirely too entertained at whatever predicament Souma is now in, his exhaustion with the evening limiting his ability to handle this new scenario with precisely zero grace.

“Nishikikouji, whatever it it, please just get it over with. I would rather like to go to bed now.” There’s a moment of unnecessarily heavy silence, Tohri staring at Souma like he’s grown a second head and Souma staring back with the cold detachment of ice - before eventually the pheasant threw his hands into the air, outnumbered and defeated.

“I can’t believe you don't even- You know what? Fine. You asked for this!” By the time he’s aware this might’ve been a mistake it’s too late for Souma to back out, Tohri having invaded his personal space for a second time that evening with a speed Souma hadn’t expected from a man in heels. Long, surprisingly calloused fingers that Souma didn’t have time to make note of in the midst of his panic attack curl around the back of his neck and make his skin burn, Tohri’s other hand going to Souma’s hip - and then there’s the taste of strawberry on his lips and the completely alien sensation of a mouth against his own. Distantly in the back of his head, Souma’s brain helpfully supplies him with the knowledge that this is a kiss, that Tohri is  _ kissing him _ and he’s doing precisely nothing in response. By the time his body catches up the pheasant is gone, leaving a strangely unwelcome coldness in his wake and looking entirely unbothered by what he’d just done while Souma was left with the distinct feeling of having a bright red blush on his cheeks, as well as most of his brain being completely fried. “There. Can we go now?”

“Sure! G’night, Isa!” Souma barely registers his boss leaving, raising a hand to tentatively touch his own lips - they tingle, not entirely unpleasantly, alongside the burn of his neck and hip. By the time he’s gathered himself, it becomes apparent to Souma that he’s still not alone - Tohri is watching him from the doorway, loud Christmas music disrupting the once-peaceful silence of the hallway. 

For a moment, neither of them say anything, faces blank - then Tohri eventually gives a quiet mutter of “see you tomorrow, Isa Souma,” and vanishes into the laboratory with zero explanation to the blush on his cheeks nor the way that kiss had felt so…  _ Like that. _ Almost  _ nice. _

Oh well. It was simply another thing to file away. At least now Souma knew to avoid mistletoe in the future, lest he is suddenly attacked with too-close contact from people he barely knew. And sleep comes a little easier that night, the taste of strawberry lipgloss still on his lips and the tingling warmth of skin on his neck and his hip and his hand.


End file.
